


Fairy Tales are Just Gossip in the End

by Ecchima, MickyRC



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Gen, Knight Aziraphale (Good Omens), Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Swords & Sorcery, Well - Freeform, one age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecchima/pseuds/Ecchima, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: The first time Aziraphale hears about the sorceress Morgan le Fay, he is intrigued. Wandering around Arthurian Britain pretending to be a knight, one hears a lot of strange and exaggerated tales. But Morgan doesn't seem to be the usual local witch or trained magician that normally start these stories. Her power seems much greater—and more unpredictable. As prone to dangerous mischief as she is to shocking acts of kindness, Morgan le Fay is someone Aziraphale would like to keep an eye on—if he can manage to track her down and finally meet her.A 5+1 story about knights, sorcery, magic (though sadly flameless) swords, and how unfamiliar the most well known things can get when they're a few too many steps down the gossip chain.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Fairy Tales are Just Gossip in the End

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely Ecchima and I got to collaborate on this piece for the Do It With Style Reverse Bang! It was tons of fun, and we're so excited to share this!!

A shout rang through the hall, cutting over the noise of the feast. The knights around Aziraphale were still laughing, the servers still calling instructions to each other, the feast still going in full swing. A servant up near the head table shouted again, louder, and something neighboring on a hush fell over the hall.

The lord of the castle, a middle ranking noble whose hospitality Aziraphale had been enjoying for some time, stood and welcomed the gathered crowd to his table. Aziraphale refilled his goblet with wine far nicer than anything in the lord’s stores and sat back to enjoy the brief bit of quiet.

Aziraphale was, currently, a knight. The whole fighting thing was less than interesting to him, but it seemed to be the best way to get around nowadays, especially for someone trying to meet a blessings quota. Knights were expected to go out on adventures, to bring back stories and spoils and leave happier people in their wake. And no one needed to know if only one of them was leaving  _ actual _ miracles behind.

It wasn’t hard to tell that his favorite part of being a knight wasn’t the glory or the traveling. No, Aziraphale’s favorite thing was the welcomes a knight received whenever they arrived somewhere. Be it tiny hamlet or lordly castle, someone was always excited to see a knight errant passing through. And they really had learned to do some excellent things with roasted game.

This feast was not for him, but for a fellow knight on his way to a town up north that had been having some “dragon problems.” Aziraphale hadn’t discovered what “dragon problems” actually meant on a planet where no dragons had made it onto the ark, but he wasn’t going to spoil everyone’s fun. He really was enjoying the feast, for the most part. Too loud, more than a bit too rowdy, but the food was superb and he could forgive his fellows their noise and lack of table manners for that.

A cheer went up from the tables, and drew Aziraphale’s eyes back to the head table. He hadn’t been listening to the lord’s little speech, so he watched in interest as an older man in bright clothing made his way to the open space between the tables.

“Lords, ladies, sirs and damsels,” the man called, quieting the room with his piercing voice. “Allow me a moment to entertain you, as you feast.” He raised a small lyre, and Aziraphale’s heart leaped. The lord had brought out a  _ bard. _

Aziraphale had always loved stories. From the sweet, short end caps Adam and Eve told their boys to chase away the fear of a nightmare to the finely detailed epics the Greeks had been so fond of, the human instinct to tell each other tales of the past (or, even better, their supposed future) fascinated him. Music and harps aside, he could sit and listen to a bard tell their stories for a year and still come back for more.

“Sir Gawaine and the Hart!” someone yelled. The shout set off the rest of the guests, everyone clamoring and shouting for their favorite story.

“The Valley of Delight, tell that one!” 

“No, the sword in the stone!”

“Ah! An excellent tale!” the bard cried, pointing grandly in the direction of the shout. “A story of our noble king and his humble beginnings. But I’ll do you one better, sirs, and tell you the story of how his majesty King Arthur acquired his current sword, the famous Excalibur, and of the lovely Lady of the Lake who gave it to him.”

Aziraphale’s ears pricked up. He didn’t recognize this one. With a quiet snap under the table, the hall suddenly found its acoustics much clearer than when it was built, and Aziraphale sat back to listen.

“As all here know, King Arthur began his kingship with a great sword, a wondrous weapon of hard steel and shining gems, the sword he miraculously pulled from the stone the great Merlin had set it in. Arthur, barely a man by this time, retrieved the sword by mistake, but even in accident it proved his royal blood and his worthiness to become king of all Britain. But in the course of adventure and many noble wars, that sword was broken. It was, after all, a weapon forged and crafted by human hands, and human work can only last so long. So Arthur and Merlin went out in search of a new sword, making their way to the greatest metal smiths in the land.

“During their travels they came upon a lake. It was broad and wide, and so still it looked as glass, or shining steel. And far out in the very middle of that lake, held aloft, there was a beautiful, gleaming sword.

“As wondrous as Arthur’s first sword was, it could not compare to the glory of this weapon. The blade was of hard blue steel, etched with sigils for strength and ferocity. Jewels and finely crafted gold encased the pommel, and the guard above the handle twisted in the shape of a serpent with shining amber for its eyes.

“The sword was held above the water by the arm of a beautiful woman, adorned with glittering golden bangles and dressed in a sleeve of sheer silver silk which remained perfectly dry even where it touched the water. Clutched together with the sword was an equally beautiful scabbard, and when the King saw this incredible blade, his heart longed for it very much.

“‘If I had that sword, we would have no need of the distant metal smiths,’ Arthur said to Merlin. ‘For this blade is fiercer than any made by men’s hands, I am sure.’ Merlin agreed, and so they approached the water.

“Right by the edge of the lake they came upon a little, sturdy hut. As the King and Merlin approached, a tall, dark haired woman emerged. Her robe was deep red, untouched by the mud of the shore. A pendant of shining black stone hung around her neck. She was striking in appearance, but more striking was her demeanor, for despite the travelers’ nobility, she regarded them as she might any passing folk.

“‘Fair lady,’ the King greeted her. ‘Do you live here by this lake?’ The woman nodded. ‘Then what do you know of the sword that sits in the midst of the lake? Is it possible to reach it?’

“To these questions the lady merely pointed out toward the lake and spoke as if from rote. She told them that no man could cross the lake, or even reach half the distance to the sword, for they all vanished below the surface if they went too far into the water. The lake was deep, and as still as it appeared, it would not allow its waters to be breached.

“The King was sorely disappointed then, for as much as his heart longed for the sword, he could not abandon his kingdom in search of it. He did not fear death, or whatever fate the lake might hold in store, but if many other knights as worthy as he had drowned in the pursuit, he would not add himself to that number.

“His adviser saw his melancholy, and clasped his shoulder in comfort. ‘My King,’ Merlin said, ‘do not be distressed. For the greatest weapon smiths in the land await us, and they will craft you a sword worthy of yourself.’

“So the King made to mount his horse and continue on their way, but the woman stopped them. Her disinterest had disappeared, her demeanor changing so quickly it was as if a different woman stood before them. ‘Are you truly Arthur, King of all Britain?’ she asked, and upon Arthur’s confirmation, the woman’s face broke into a relieved smile. ‘Then I am glad, for though no other can,  _ you _ will be able to cross the lake and retrieve the sword, as it is intended for you.’

“The lady snapped her fingers, and a small boat appeared upon the crystal waters of the lake, as though it had been there always. Arthur and the woman stepped onto the boat, and with another finger snap it began to sail across the lake, leaving no ripple or wave in its wake. The boat took them out to the middle of the water, where the beautiful arm still held the sword aloft, and when they reached it Arthur took the sword and its scabbard, and felt a magical strength fill his body. The arm disappeared like mist as soon as the sword was gone, but Arthur hardly noticed, so glad was he to find the weapon was as wonderful to hold as it was to see.

“When the boat had returned to shore, Arthur asked the woman who she was. She told him she was the Lady of the Lake, charged with watching over the sword and warning any who would attempt to reach it to resist the temptation. ‘But you were always meant to have it,’ she said, ‘and now that the sword is gone from the lake I am free to leave.’

“‘Have you a name?’ Arthur asked, and the woman told him she was called Morgan le Fey. ‘And has the sword a name? A weapon such as this, and a magical one, must have a name as worthy as itself.’

“‘Excalibur,’ Morgan said, and Arthur rejoiced, for such a name was indeed as great as the sword which bore it.

“And so King Arthur got his noble sword Excalibur, which he still wields, and which has saved him many times in battle when his own strength has nearly been overcome. For so long as he bears its scabbard at his side, no blood will spill from any wounds inflicted on him.

And, having quickly recognized the power and magic of the weapon, Arthur also asked the Lady of the Lake to join them on their journey back to Camelot. He offered her a place at the court of the Round Table, where she could share her stories and practice her magic. The Lady Morgan agreed, and she now sits in Arthur’s hall when in Camelot, and is a trusted adviser to the King and all the other noble folk of his hall.”

The bard struck the final chord of his accompaniment, and Aziraphale blinked the haze of the story from his eyes. The other feast-goers were loudly expressing their enjoyment of the tale, clapping and shouting their praise, and after a moment to bring himself back to the present Aziraphale joined in the applause. But even as the others began to call for other tales, he found he couldn’t shake the story. Something in the tale had him hooked, and he needed to know more.

There was magic everywhere in those days, of course. A scattering of the tales were genuine, or at least had a basis of truth, though the tales did as much to bolster spirits and encourage adventuring as any actual spells could. Of all the witches and magicians and sorcerers going around the country with their little hexes and curses there  _ were _ a few with a bit of a spark, and the bards and gossips would happily make the most of any sprinkling of magic. But this seemed bigger. The lake, the boat, the magical sword—any of them  _ could _ be real, or could be blown up into something tale-worthy, but all together, and told with such simplicity of fact… it struck Aziraphale that this lady Morgan might actually have more of a spark than most.

Even beyond the magic any woman who managed to make a name for herself as a wise adviser was someone Aziraphale wanted to meet. It had been so long since he was in Camelot, anyway, and a bit of time off a horse and in a comfortable chair in the castle archives wouldn’t do his blessings quota any harm. Perhaps Merlin had some new prophecies he’d be willing to let Aziraphale write down and save.

Mind made up, Aziraphale stood and began to make his way out of the hall. He felt adventure in his blood. It was a two day ride to Camelot; he would be there by morning, with a bit of a miracle.

Unless, of course, the group in front of him continued to move at a snail’s pace out the door. The young men were just as rowdy as the guests still in the hall, arguing loudly about the bard and the tale he had told.

“That’s crap,” one of them said. “The story was all wrong.”

“Was good on the harp though. You can’t say he couldn’t play.”

“Oh the music was fine, I guess, but that’s not the  _ point. _ Morgan’s not  _ good, _ everybody knows that.”

Aziraphale’s ears pricked up. He stepped closer to the group to listen better.

“Morgan le Fey is a sorceress,” the first boy was insisting. “She’s a trickster, that’s the point.”

“But the King really does have a sword like that,” one of the others spoke up. “It’s just like the bard said. I saw it when I was in—”

“Yeah, we get it, we all know you’ve been to Camelot.” 

“Oh he’s  _ got _ the sword, sure. But Morgan wasn’t the Lady of the Lake. That’s ridiculous, why would she give the King a sword that keeps him from bleeding when she wants to kill him?”

“She doesn’t want to  _ kill _ him.”

“Of course she does. You’re not listening to the right stories.”

They reached the courtyard, and the young men made towards the castle gates, leaving Aziraphale behind at the stables.

“That’s interesting,” the angel said to himself. Humans were always contradicting each other, of course. It was part of what made their stories so fascinating.

Aziraphale went into the stable and walked his horse toward the gates. He’d just have to go and investigate for himself.


End file.
